The Maze Trials: Take Two
by newtellagoose
Summary: Ever wondered what would happen if WICKED got to go back in time to minimise the number of deaths caused in The Maze Trials, but still want to do it, in the hope of finding The Cure? What if they decided to drop the Gladers a bunch of early clues to escape the Maze? Or more specifically, a tattered copy of "The Maze Runner", written by James Dashner?
1. Supplies

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Maze Runner.**

**A/N: Hi, welcome to my second TMR fanfic! This story starts right after Thomas arrives in the Glade, but **_**before**_** Teresa appears and well, ruins everything. *smirks* Let's pretend there's a long gap between Thomas and Teresa's arrival, like a month instead of a day, k?**

**So in this chapter, Thomas is already quite familiar with his new surroundings but is still very curious and **_**still**_** asks 16517358 questions an hour yay. Also, this is before Minho, Alby and Thomas get themselves locked outside the Glade, which basically means before Alby gets stung by a Griever. Also it's before Ben got stung. So basically everything is still rainbows and butterflies in the Glade back when everything was _normal_. Alrighty read onnn**

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><p><span>Chapter One: Supplies<span>

"Supplies are here," Newt called out to nobody in particular, nodding out the kitchen window in the general direction of the Box. His odd accent rang out through the almost-empty kitchen. The blonde and his two friends Thomas and Minho were taking a short break from work.

"How do you know that?" Thomas looked up in confusion. He stopped chewing a bite of his cheese sandwich to strain his ears. "I don't hear an alarm or anything."

"That's because there isn't," Newt agreed, turning back to his own sandwich. "Alarm only goes off when a Newbie arrives."

"Then how do you-"

"It's 5pm, Tommyboy," Minho sighed, tapping his digital watch. "On a Wednesday. The Box sends up shuck supplies every week, same day; same time."

"How'd you know it's a Wednesday, then?" Thomas shook his head, brushing bread crumbs off his hands. He paused. "And don't call me Tommyboy."

"Us and a bunch of others were the only ones in the Glade originally. We decided it was Sunday on the day of our arrival," Minho ignored Thomas's last remark. "So for 2 years and counting, everyone here has been following the days of the week according to us."

"So you're saying it could very well be a_ Sunday _right now and we would never know?"

"Precisely," Newt said as the same time Minho scoffed, "Does it matter?"

Just then, Winston the Keeper of the Slicers walked in through the door, his dark hair matted to his scarred face and his skin gleaming with sweat. Breathing heavily like he'd just ran the Maze, he trudged over to the refrigerator in the corner, after nodding at his seated friends.

"Dude," Minho said with his mouth full of food. "You look horrible."

"Thanks," Winston said sarcastically while pulling out a bottle of cold water. "You would too, if ya'd been runnin' around all day chasing hyperactive pigs."

Newt snorted, "Sounds fun."

"Aren't you shanks supposed to go fetch to the supplies right about now?" Winston replied before taking long, thirsty gulps of water. Thomas obviously knew the Bloodhouse Keeper wasn't adressing _him._

"Yeah, yeah," Minho took a sip from his metal cup. "Keep your undies on, shuck-face. We're about to."

As quickly as Winston had appeared, he was gone again. Thomas sat up straighter. "There's a schedule for who collects the supplies each week?"

"Yep. Gally and Winsty were on duty last week." Newt explained. He gestured vaguely across the table at Minho. "This week is me and that bloody shank over there."

"Which is why I'm back an hour early from Running, see." Minho said.

"So when do I get a turn?" Thomas asked. "Getting the supplies, I mean."

"You don't, slinthead," Minho laughed. "Keepers only. And super important people like Alby and Newt."

"Hear that, Tommy?" Newt smirked. "I'm _super importan_t."

Thomas made a face at the blonde.

"Tell you what, man," Newt clapped Thomas on the shoulder, getting up. "You can come with us if ya want. You can be our buggin' little assistant."

Minho got up as well, kicking in his chair. "Sure, Tommyboy. We could use an extra pair of hands."

"I told you not to call me Tommyboy."

"What, this shank can call you Tommy but _I_ can't call you _Tommyboy?_" Minho protested, pointing an accusing finger at Newt while his other clutched at his chest in mock pain.

Newt let out a short laugh, pulling the kitchen door open and blasting them with a warm breeze from outside. "Ooh, Minho. Ouch."

"I see how it is," Minho narrowed his eyes mockingly at both of the boys. "_I got my eye on you two._" he said simply before pushing past Newt and walking out into the sunlight.

"Our bloody joker," Newt rolled his eyes at Thomas before following his Asian friend.

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><p>Thomas's stomach flipped at the mere sight of the metal Box, now only about ten feet away. The memory of waking up in the dark, stuffy elevator, only about a couple of weeks ago filled his mind. He quickly pushed the thought away.<p>

"Right," Minho cracked his knuckles and leaned down to wrap his fingers around one of the metal handles on one side of the shaft doors. Newt grabbed the other. "Let's get 'er open."

With a loud, rusty screech, the doors were yanked apart. Thomas grimaced as a puff of dust from inside the Box rose into his face. Minho was the first to jump into it, making a dull, echoing thud when his feet slammed into the bottom.

"Food, clothes, blah blah," he stated. "The usual klunk." he began throwing up bulky packages of items into Newt and Thomas's waiting arms a few feet above.

"Wait a minute," Newt squinted, leaning as far as he dared without falling into the lift. "What's that?"

Minho searched the seemingly empty Box. "What?"

"Behind your foot, you shank," the blonde insisted. "In the corner."

"Oh." Minho bent down to scoop up the package that almost went unnoticed. "What the shuck is this?"

"What?" Thomas demanded as Newt threw a rope down to help Minho out. "What is it?"

"I don't freaking know, dude." Minho clambered to his feet once he was back on solid ground, clutching a flat rectangular item in his hands. The Box immediately clanged back down to wherever it came from after the shaft doors were firmly shut again.

All the supplies lying next to the Box and forgotten, the two other Gladers gathered around their Asian friend. The boys were quiet.

"Is this a joke?" Newt asked in confusion.

Minho held up the tattered book against the blue sky, as if doing so would answer their questions. "Who the shuckballs is James Dashner?"

"The Maze Runner," Thomas read the title aloud on the fading cover. It had a photo of tall stone walls, exactly like the ones in the Glade. "What maze runner? Do they mean like, the Runners or something?"

Minho began flipping through the crusty, yellowing pages. The three squinted at the pages reflecting the soft sunlight into their eyes.

"No bloody way," Newt muttered. "Our names are in this."

"This is a shucking story," Minho said slowly. Thomas could imagine the gears in his friend's brain spinning as he tried to make sense of the situation. "A story… A _book… _with us in it."

"Our Glader words are in it too," the blonde boy let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Doesn't make klunkin' cow sense."

"This is insane," Minho snorted. "What, they want us to read _a freaking book_ while we need to figure out a way to get out of this hellhole?"

"Hey," someone called loudly from behind them. The Gladers turned.

"What are you shanks doing? The Builders are demanding for more wood supplies." Alby shook his head, walking up towards them from the direction of the Homestead. He squinted. "Y'all look like a bunch of giggling girls huddled together like that."

"I'll tell ya what's going on, man," Minho spoke up, closing the old book and tossing it at their leader. Alby caught in in surprise, mid-step. "That came in the Box today."

Alby examined the book. He looked up and gave them a questioning look.

"Don't know. Some kind of story thing." Thomas offered. "All of us are in it."

"Lots of pages missing," the dark-skinned boy noted, flipping the pages. Then he stopped abruptly and looked up, like he just thought of something. "We need to read this," he quipped. "These are clues, you slintheads. To get out of the Maze."

"Why would the Creators send us clues?" Newt asked.

Minho nodded and said, "That's like throwing a treat to a shuck dog anyway for not completing its trick."

"I don't know," Alby looked down at the book again with curious eyes. "But it must be. We need to analyze every klunk page. Make sure we don't miss anything important. This may be our only ticket outta here."

"This is crazy." Minho's eyes were wide.

"We should inform the others," Thomas spoke up. "Call a Gathering or something, if we want to take full advantage of this book."

"Good that, Greenie," the leader nodded. There was an excited glint in his usually hard eyes as he glanced at the fellow Gladers in front of him. "I'll keep the book somewhere safe. Now scamper back to work, you shanks. Lots to do."

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><p><strong>AN: There you go! First chapter. To be honest, I don't even know where I'm gonna go with this, but yeah I'll go with the flow, I guess, and see where it takes me bahahhahaa. Please review, don't be a silent reader! Thank you x**


	2. Gathering

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Maze Runner.**

**A/N: Here's Chapter 2! Thank you so much for the awesome reviews on the first, IT MEANS SO SO MUCH TO ME! Oh I'm sorry if I took a long time to update, but I gotta admit I'm a pretty slow writer, especially during the weekends lol. My parents are like, "Get off the computer dude it's family timee" hahaha. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter-**

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><p><span>Chapter Two: Gathering<span>

"As leader of the Glade, I declare this Gathering begun." Alby's dark eyes swept around the semicircle, where ten Keepers plus Newt were seated in silence. He cleared his throat and held up the old book so everyone had a clear view of it. "As you all know by now, something unusual came up in the Box earlier today. This."

Rumbles of murmurs and whispers broke out in the quiet room.

"The reason we're all here right now is to discuss what we're going to do with this book, and how we're going to use it as our guide to lead us out of the Maze." he went on. "Now, so far we don't know why the Creators sent this up. All we know is that we can't be a bunch of stupid shanks to ignore it, as this might be the only thing to help us escape." Alby handed the book over to Newt with a nod. "We'll pass this around so everyone can have a chance to check it out before we start with the suggestions."

As the book got passed down the line of the Council members, Alby continued talking. "I didn't read it, but based on my quick observation, it's a novel about us. It seems to be titled The Maze Runner, written by someone called James Dashner. It talks about our everyday life in the Glade… how this place works… how we're surrounded by The Maze. Everything. Quite well written. Also, this story seems to be told from the indirect point of view of our latest Greenbean, Thomas."

"Wait,_ what_?"

"_Thomas?_" Winston cried.

"What does this have to do with _him?_"

"I knew there was something' fishy happening with that shuck-face." Gally, the Keeper of the Builders, snarled. "I say we bring him in here and grill him until he tells us what's going on!"

"Shut up, man." another voice replied. "Let's not jump to any conclusions!"

The person who was currently holding the book— Winston— widened his eyes and began flipping through it violently. ("Stop it, you're gonna rip it." snapped Minho.) Two Keepers who haven't had a go at the book yet lunged out of their chairs to get a closer look. The room was suddenly a mess of shouts of disbelief and confusion.

"_SIT YOUR BUTTS DOWN!" _Newt shouted. Alby roared in rage, looking furious. Everyone scampered back to their seats, muttering under their breaths. "You all know the friggin' rules! Keep your shuck mouths shut and _just listen_, all right? How hard is it to follow that one simple rule? You'll get your bloody chance to comment and blab until your throat bleeds later!" the blonde glared.

Once order was restored, a very irritated Alby got back to business. "As I was saying, shanks. This book. It has pages missing, almost half of it, if I'm not mistaken. Which is why it's crucial to analyze every single word because we can't afford to overlook anything. Now, quickly pass the book 'round. We don't have time for fooling' and playin' around anymore."

When the book reached the last Keeper and got passed back to Alby again, Newt cleared his throat and flipped open his notepad, taking up his usual role as the notetaker. "Right. Suggestions and opinions first, voting after. As usual, we'll go from left to right."

"Zart," Alby said. "Go ahead."

"Well, um," Zart's eyes darted around. He scratched his head. "I think we should all read the book, of course. And I don't mean just us, the Council. I mean we should get every Glader involved."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Alby nodded.

"Maybe we can— I don't know— like gather everyone up for a couple hours each day? And you know, someone can read it out loud or something so everyone gets to hear the story." Zart said calmly. "I think we need all the help we can get if this is going to help us out of here."

Newt scribbled something down on his notepad. "Anything else?"

"No."

"Zart, surely you have an opinion on the Greenbean, our main star in this book?" Gally insisted before the next person could speak.

"Shut up, it's not your turn!" Newt cried.

"Actually, yeah, about Thomas," Zart spoke up. "I think I'll have to agree with Gally here. It seems a bit weird that the book is pretty much written from his point of view. And also the fact that Gally keeps saying he saw Thomas when he went through The Changing. I mean, that's not nothing. He can't have made that up."

"I didn't." Gally snapped. "I saw that shank in my memories. I'm the only here that's ever been stung!"

Alby didn't bother acknowledging Gally. "So what do you think we should do?" he turned back to Zart, looking annoyed that he needed to keep prodding the quiet boy to talk more.

"Bring him in right now, and see what he thinks of all this," Zart shrugged. Gally suddenly looked as though he wanted to kiss him. "Or maybe after this. I don't know."

"Okay," Alby sighed, throwing a glance at his second-in-command to make sure the idea was written down. "Nothing to add?"

"Nope."

"Then you're next, Fry." the leader gestured at the Keeper of the Cooks.

"I think all this klunk of accusing Thomas that he did something is just plain crazy." Frypan started simply. "I mean, really, who cares if he's the main character in this book? We don't know anything. For all we know, the Creators wrote this thing and sent it up to mess with our feelings or whatever. But I still think this book is important. As for suggestions on how we're going to make use of it, I'll go with The Fart's idea." he Cook nodded towards Zart, his beard swaying. "We should gather everyone up, maybe cut off a few working hours for a few days, so we can finish deciphering this whole book as soon as possible and find out what we need to do after that."

There were grunts of approval among the other members as Newt scribbled down another note. Minho even cheered.

"Good that." Alby said and shot a look at everyone as a warning to keep quiet.

"Next."

The Keeper with black hair and freckles sat up straighter and shrugged. "I agree with everything Frypan said."

"Anything else to add?" Newt persisted.

"Don't think so." the boy quipped. Newt rolled his eyes slightly.

"My turn," Winston said in an eager voice. "I agree with Frypan and Zart, of course, about the thing where we gather the Gladers and have a freaking reading session everyday. But also, I agree that the whole thing goin' on with Thomas and this book is as suspicious as the mould growing in the upstairs Homestead toilet."

A couple of people snorted a laugh. Gally nodded furiously.

"I mean, no offense," the Blood House Keeper went on, eying everyone around him, his gaze lingering vaguely on those who've gotten pretty close to the Newbie. "Thomas is a pretty nice guy. But think of it, he shows up, and then bam, this book arrives, with his _name _printed in black and white— literally— as the main character of this book. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm just saying we should dig deeper, ya know? Something strange is going on. I say we interrogate him a bit."

"All right," Alby nodded, deep in thought. "Newt, write her down."

Newt picked up his pencil again. "Anything else?"

Winston shook his head.

"Next."

About five more boys went ahead, speaking more or less the same stuff as the previous Keepers. Next came Newt.

"Right," Newt took a deep breath. "I think the reading session thing is a good idea, best before sundown, I guess, before it gets dark. Everyone gets to hear the story. Everyone will get a chance to think and develop their own opinions in order to contribute to findin' a way out of the bloody Maze. Same goes to kickin' a few hours off work for this, but not too many. Maybe two hours each day, or else the Gladers will be slackin' and all the order we already have will be screwed up, and that would suck. I also recommend we gather everyone outdoors, as no way everyone would be able to fit the shuckin' Homestead like one of you suggested earlier. Who knows how long the old bugger's got before it collapses, by the looks of it."

Everyone nodded at this.

"As for what we're gonna do with our dear Tommy, I say we confront him and make him tell us whatever he knows. But not with everyone around, of course. That'll be stupid and pointless. We're not gonna hold another buggin' Gathering just to make him cough up stuff that he _most probably_ doesn't know." the blonde looked pointedly at Gally. "Of course, I'm not taking sides, so all the same, we should confront him. We got nothing' to lose anyway. So maybe just Alby or me who'll talk to the Greenie. Whatever, we'll figure out who later." he shrugged. "That is all."

"Great," the dark-skinned boy said. "Minho next."

"Everything I was plannin' to say has already been said, I guess," the Runner shrugged. He almost looked bored. "I agree with everything Newt said. Nothin' else to add."

"Okay," Newt nodded. "Gally, the golden moment you've been waiting' for has finally arrived. You may start yer yappin'."

"Finally." Gally cleared his throat. "I saw Thomas in The Changing. He looks familiar to me, and I _know _he's got something to do with this book. I can feel it in my bones. He–"

"Get to the point, boy." Alby growled.

"All I want to say is that we should keep an eye on him from now on. I don't trust that shank, that's all I'm saying." Gally said. "We need to observe his every step." he paused for effect. "He's special, somehow. Different."

"You sound like you're in love with him." Minho snickered.

Newt's serious mask broke and he coughed, trying to hide his laugh. The others tried to keep a straight face on. Gally's face turned red with rage.

"You stupid pile of—"

"All right," Alby said loudly, before an argument started. "Anything else, shank?"

"No." Gally glared. "I agree with the reading thing. That's all."

"Best thing I've heard all day," Alby muttered before clearing his throat. "As for _me_, I agree with the reading session, two hours a day, tops, to be held outdoors, like Newt said. We also confront the Greenbean. See what he knows. Also, I think it's necessary to draw up a timetable on who will be leading the reading session each day. We don't know how many days we'll need to finish the whole book, but I think we'll just select a few of y'all to read. Agreed?"

Everyone grunted.

"Okay." Alby crossed his arms. "Voting time."

Nothing much was said after that as everyone quickly voted for the Reading Session to be held from 5pm to 7pm, just before the sun completely disappeared. The event was to be held on the Glade courtyard, near the Box, everyday for as long as they needed to finish the book.

"Now get out of here." Alby said tiredly. "I declare this Gathering to adjourn. Newt, you stay. Someone go fetch the Greenbean in here."

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><p>"How often do the Keepers hold Gatherings?" Thomas asked, flicking an ant off his shoe. He had his plate in his lap. He and his friend Chuck were sitting under a big tree where they'd decided to eat dinner to escape the noisy Gladers swarming the Kitchen. Frypan had left to attend the Gathering, so naturally, his Cooks were having a hard time taming the pack of wild and hungry teenage boys.<p>

"Not often," Chuck bit off a chunk of fried chicken. "They only ever hold one when something serious or strange happens. Or when somebody gets in trouble and they need to discuss what they're going to do with the shank."

Thomas nodded, and paused. "I keep wondering what they're gonna do with the book."

"Read it, of course," the younger boy said and made a face. "I doubt we'll get a chance at it, though. Probably Council members only."

"You don't know that," Thomas argued. "It's important. Maybe they need everyone involved to solve this."

"Maybe," Chuck shrugged and let out a loud burp, leaning back against the tree trunk. He set his empty plate on the ground and his eyes lit up. "I think the meetings over. There's Minho."

Thomas shoved a forkful of noodles into his mouth as he looked up. Chuck was right. He saw Minho and a bunch of other Keepers exiting the Homestead and heading towards the Kitchen for food.

"Yo, Greenie," a voice called from their right. A kid Thomas didn't know was running up to them. "Alby wants ya in the Council Room. Right now."

"_Him_?" Chuck asked in awe at the same time Thomas echoed, "Me?"

"Yeah. He says it's important." the kid shrugged and left.

"Man, what did you do?" Chuck stared at Thomas, his blue eyes wide.

"I didn't do anything," Thomas rolled his eyes, handing his almost-empty plate to Chuck. "You don't have to follow me. I'm sure it'll be quick, whatever it is."

Chuck gave a wave as Thomas made his way towards the Homestead, already a huge dark silhouette in the distance as night approached.

He'd been in the Glade for two whole weeks now, already used to his new life. He'd accepted the fact that no matter how hard he tried to remember, he couldn't recall anything about his old life, which he knew was the same for everyone else, so it didn't bother him too much. He'd spent each day trying out different Glader jobs, meeting different Keepers to show him the ropes. Although he seemed to be especially good working as a Gardener, he secretly longed to be a Runner. He didn't know why the idea appealed to him so much, but he felt like he was born to be one. Of course, he kept quiet about it. He didn't even tell Chuck.

_What does Alby want with me? _he thought as he reached the dilapidated building. He was beginning to feel slightly nervous. _I did nothing wrong._

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><p><strong>AN: Please review x**


	3. First Clue

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Maze Runner.**

**A/N: HII I'M NOT DEAD! I'm sorry I took so long to update ahh. I've been pretty busy with family stuff recently, so I didn't have much access to my laptop as I've been out quite a lot. This chapter was also quite difficult to write. I had to analyse my actual copy of The Maze Runner to see how I'm gonna approach this chapter.**

**I tried to make it as interesting as possible without having to repeat too much from the book. Also, it's a bit short, sorry. I'm also sorry if it's a bit boring. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer and have a bit more action! ALSO, I decided to make the parts taken directly from the book _Bold and Italic_, so nobody gets confused haha.**

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><p><span>Chapter Three: First Clue<span>

The next evening found the Gladers grouped together on the floor of the courtyard, near the Box. They were seated in a large semicircle surrounding a few chairs arranged neatly at the front, where the book will be read aloud. Thomas sat up front with Minho, while a few other people he knew sat behind with their own groups of friends.

The conversation with Alby and Newt yesterday crossed his mind again for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. They had pestered him for a whole hour on whether he knew anything about the arrival of the strange book or if anything seemed familiar. He was shocked when he found out it featured _himself_ as the main character and had swore he knew nothing about it. ("I'm the same as you guys," he had protested. "Honest, I don't know anything.")

The whole thing seemed so unreal and, well, ridiculous.

If things were normal right now, everyone would be at work; pulling weeds, feeding pigs, building fences, mapping the Maze, etc. But here they all were—well, most of them— seated cross-legged and chatting with one another in the middle of the Glade. Nobody seem to mind, though. If at all, they seemed to be enjoying the break and were taking the opportunity to catch up with their friends.

According to Minho's watch, it was almost 5pm. More and more Gladers were filling up the empty spaces now, as the agreed meeting time ticked closer.

"Hey." Chuck plopped down in the empty spot on the other side of Thomas.

"Hey, buddy," Thomas nodded as Minho flashed him a grin in greeting. "Where've you been all day?"

"Sloppin', what do you think?" the kid rolled his eyes, embarrassed. His cheeks colored slightly. Everyone knew Chuck worked as a Slopper, generally viewed as the worst job in the Glade. It was a job title given to those who kept the place clean and polished. They cleaned toilets, shower rooms, the kitchen and not to mention the Blood House after a slaughter was done.

Thomas felt bad for the poor kid, not to mention a little awkward. He immediately steered the conversation to a better topic.

"So, uh, who are those chairs for?" he pointed at the furniture up front. The question was more directed toward Minho, he realised belatedly.

"Alby and Newt." Minho replied, looking around for them but to no avail; they weren't there yet. He turned back to Thomas. "The other chair's probably for the poor Keeper who needs to lead the reading today. We still haven't decided who."

"You sound pretty confident it's not gonna be _you_." Chuck snorted to his right.

"Well, even if it is, who cares?" Minho said with his signature smirk. "I'm sure I'll be able to make this whole reading thing look hot, yanno? Unlike the other sissies."

"In your dreams, slinthead." Chuck scoffed and added generously, "I keep tellin' you—you're an ugly shank."

Thomas caught the snatches of easy banter passed back and forth between his two friends, not really wanting to take part in the small talk. He found himself zoning out and began thinking again about the talk yesterday.

During a lull in their conversation, however, Minho smacked Thomas on the shoulder to catch his attention. Chuck turned to chat with another Glader a few rows behind them.

"Hey," The Runner leaned closer and whispered, "I forgot, how did the talk go with Alby and Newt last night?"

Thomas's stomach clenched with unease. "You knew about that?"

"Of course I do," Minho said incredulously. "Last time I checked, I'm a Council member eligible to attend Gatherings."

"You mean I was _discussed_ yesterday?" Thomas felt his face heat up. He groaned inwardly. For some reason, he was under the impression that the matter was only between Alby and Newt and him for now. "Dude, I swear, I don't know anything about the stupid book, okay?"

"We all figured you'd say that," Minho shrugged after a while. "Worth a try, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"We were hoping you would find the book familiar or something," he explained. "To give us some kind of clue what we're up against."

"I don't get it," Thomas ran his hands through his hair. "I can't even remember my _last name_. You think I'll remember some random book?"

"C'mon, Thomas. Use your shuck brain," Minho rolled his eyes and poked the side of his head for emphasis. "You're the newest Greenie here. In the same month, a book arrives about you. Are you saying if you were us, you wouldn't be suspicious? Not even a tiny bit?"

Thomas didn't reply. Panic flickered in his chest. _He's right._

"All right, everyone be quiet," a voice called loudly from the front. The noisy Gladers looked up to see Newt walking towards them, Alby hot on his heels. A hush fell over the crowd, but only because everyone was eager for the activity to start. Upon seeing the leaders' arrival, the last few boys ran up to take their seat in the crowd.

"Keepers, get your butts out here." Alby ordered. He stood in front of his chair, arms crossed. "We're going to choose who leads the reading today."

"This is so unnecessary." Minho sighed and obeyed.

Once all the Keepers were grouped at the front, Winston asked in amusement: "What, are we gonna flip coins or something?"

"Not quite, boys," Newt held up a bundle of long white sticks in his hand. Thomas squinted. "We're gonna draw straws."

"No wonder I was missing a bunch of those." Frypan muttered, earning a few laughs from those close enough to hear.

In the end, it was _Minho_ who drew the shortest straw, out of ten Keepers. Thomas and Chuck exchanged amused glances, chortling. Minho looked just as shocked, but decided it was bad luck and accepted his fate. Alby took the first seat, Minho the second, and Newt third.

"So here's how it's going to play out," Alby said loudly. "Minho's going to read the book out loud. I want absolute silence, are we clear?" he gave the crowd the evil eye before going on. "After each page, if you have questions or an opinion or whatever, raise your hand, and say it. Cause any trouble, and you'll be sent back to work."

"Right." Minho sighed dramatically when Alby didn't continue. He flipped through the first few pages and scanned the contents quickly. "Before I start our storytime, let me just point out that this book is freaking messed up. Like, it starts from Page 12 and there's only a few paragraphs given. Then from Page 12, the pages are missing until Page 20, and so on. I'm just saying; you're bound to get confused."

"_Also_," Minho addressed the nodding crowd. "On behalf of the Council, I might as well use this opportunity to tell you shanks beforehand that this book is written from the point of view of our Greenie right there." he pointed at a red-faced Thomas.

"You'll probably get what I mean after I start reading this klunk book." he continued talking. "Now, nobody knows why the shuck Thomas is special yet, so my advice to you shanks is that you might want to hold back your anger or hatred or whatever until we really know what's up, alright?"

Thomas knew what Minho had just said was to protect him, but all the same, it was still humiliating. His face burnt as he dodged the weird looks thrown at him from all sides. Even Chuck was gaping at him strangely.

"We got plenty of time for goggling later, little boys." Newt rolled his eyes. "Pay attention to Mommy Minho now."

Alby got out his notepad. Minho cleared his throat and began reading.

**_Newt had barely finished his sentence when a sudden, piercing scream ripped through the air. High and shrill, the barely human shriek echoed across the stone courtyard; every kid in sight turned to look toward the source. Thomas felt his blood turn to icy slush as he realized that the horrible sound came from the wooden building._**

**_Even Newt had jumped as if startled, his forehead creasing in concern._**

**_"Shuck it," he said. "Can't the bloody Med-jacks handle that boy for ten minutes without needin' my help?" He shook his head and lightly kicked Thomas on the foot. "Find Chuckie, tell him he's in charge of your sleepin' arrangements." And then he turned and headed in the direction of the building, running._**

"End of Page 12." Minho looked up. "Now hush and let me read the next page as well."

_**The look was fast—only a few seconds—but it was enough to haunt him forever. A twisted, pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous. Tight, rigid cords of sickly green veins webbed across t**__**he boy's body and limbs, like ropes under his skin. Purplish bruises covered the kid, red hives, bloody scratches. His bloodshot eyes bulged, darting back and forth. The image had already burned into Thomas's mind before Alby jumped up, blocking the view but not the moans and screams, pushing Thomas out of the room, then slamming the door shut behind them.**_

Everybody exchanged wide-eyed glances with one another when Minho was done, their gaze shifting to stare as those mentioned on the pages. Some gaped, shock written on their faces. Thomas felt uncomfortable. Chuck looked awkward that his name was included.

Alby held up a hand, silencing the low murmurs that broke out after Minho had stopped reading.

"This is harder to figure out than we thought," Newt shook his head. sighing. "It's too bloody confusing. We need a more systematic way to do this, or it's not going to work."

"I think you gotta summarize what you've read, man." Winston shouted from the back. "It's hard for us to remember what we've heard the second you finish reading. We can't help much like this." Shouts of approval responded, Alby's threat for their keeping quiet forgotten.

The leader nodded, rubbing his temple. "We'll try anything. We need to break it down, bit by bit."

"Give me a minute, then." Minho grunted, turning back to the book.

"I'll help." Newt scooted his chair closer. The two boys bent over the book, discussing in hushed whispers as they analyzed the pages. The others were silent, waiting; watching.

"Bloody simple klunk, actually." Newt straightened after a few minutes. His face was grim. "Here we go again. Listen up."

Minho sat straighter in his seat. "So, in this scene, we got Newt and Thomas talkin'. In the middle of their cosy little chit-chat, this terrible scream happens." he paused to make sure the others were following him; they were nodding intently. "It says here that the scream came from _the wooden building._" Minho nodded. "That's gotta be the Homestead."

"We don't got nothin' else." Alby agreed, scribbling down notes. "Gotta be the Homestead."

"Okay. So this scary shriek comes from the Homestead," Minho improvised, glancing down at the book. "After the scream, Newt says, c_an't the bloody Med-jacks handle that boy for ten minutes without needin' my help?_"

"I don't talk like that, idiot." the blonde muttered. Minho had used a high-pitched voice to quote him, who ignored him.

"Then Newt tells Thomas to find Chuck because he's in charge of his sleeping arrangements and runs off. That must mean Thomas is a fellow Newbie in the book—as he is in real life." Minho added as an afterthought. "Take note, ya shanks: according to Book-Newt, the screams are coming from _a boy_. A Glader, obviously. He also mentions that this screaming boy is in the care of the Med-jacks, so, just as obviously, we can conclude here that this boy is sick."

Thomas felt his stomach tighten with unease as he listened. Excited chatter exploded around him again.

"Shut your holes!" Alby shouted. The Gladers shut their holes.

"As for Page 20," Newt said loudly, "It says here, _Alby jumped up, blocking the view but not the moans and screams, pushing Thomas out of the room, then slamming the door shut behind them. _That must mean Tommy wasn't allowed into this room in the first place, judging from the way Alby reacted."

"I'd say this room is in the Homestead." Minho exchanged a serious look with his blonde friend. "Where the sick boy is at."

Newt nodded, turning to stare at the other boys. "Our guess here is that Tommy bloody went into this room or something for a certain reason, which made Alby mad." he glanced down at the book again. "Before he was shoved out of the room, Thomas got a glimpse of this sick boy."

"_…Pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous…" _Minho continued apace quoting the gruesome description of the ill boy from the book._ "…Sickly green veins… _ _purplish bruises… red hives… bloody scratches… bloodshot eyes…"_

"Gross." a boy groaned loudly.

Alby suddenly stopped writing, his pencil frozen in his fingers. His dark face turned pale in the weak sunlight as he turned to stare at Minho and Newt, realisation filling his eyes. Minho gave him a nod, confirming the leaders' thoughts.

"As gross at it may be, shanks," Newt said to the Gladers. "This may also be our first clue."

Everyone was silent.

Minho wasn't smiling. "Someone's gonna get stung by a Griever."

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for the follows and reviews and favourites for the previous chapters! Tell me what you think of this one, I'm nervous x**

**UPDATE: Please take note that in this story, I changed the time frame a bit aka the time between Thomas's arrival in the Glade & Teresa's. (I made it a month instead of a day.) Besides that, _Ben hasn't been stung by a Griever yet;_ neither has_ Alby,_ k? Long story short: everything was rainbows and butterflies in the Glade, besides, y'know, the weird arrival of the book and all.**

**PS: MERRY CHRISTMAS! ...Or in Glader-style, _MARRY NEWTMAS!_**


	4. Bacon and Screams

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Maze Runners nor it's amazing characters. The epic James Dashner and his book-publishing people do!**

**A/N: Apologies for the long wait for the update! Hopefully this super long chapter will make up for it (or not). This took me so long to write, I was so stuck with the plot stuff ugggh hahaha. Anyway, tell me what you think. I wanna know how much this chapter sucked, ect..**

**OH AND HAPPY NEW(T) YEAR! (;**

**ps: you're probably shaking your head at the name of this chapter, sorry lolol**

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><p><span>Chapter Four: Bacon and Screams<span>

"Penny for your thoughts, Tommy?"

Thomas blinked out of his reverie at the sound of the voice. He looked up to see the older boy push a plate piled with food in front of him.

"Eat. Give your brain a rest for a bit," Newt gave him pointed look and took a seat opposite him with his own breakfast. "You look like a bloody zombie about to pass out any second."

As if on cue, Thomas's stomach let out a loud growl. He hadn't eaten much of a dinner after last night's Reading Session. Then again, nobody had. It was as if the Book's first clue—_someone's gonna get stung by a Griever_— had sapped up all of their hunger, replacing them with the horrible feeling of worry and fear and the anticipation of waiting for something bad to happen.

"Thanks," he shoved a forkful of food into his mouth, the glorious taste of scrambled eggs filling his mouth. All his dark thoughts were momentarily forgotten.

"Oh man. Is that shuckin' bacon I smell?" a moan sounded from behind Thomas, followed by a hard slap on the shoulder. Both boys looked up to see Minho rushing past their table and making a beeline for the breakfast queue.

"So, what's on the agenda today?"

"Same buggin' line-up, Greenie," Newt grimaced, both at the question and the fact that Thomas had asked it with his mouth full of food. "Close your trap, ya look disgusting."

Thomas made a face but waited until he finished swallowing before replying. "So we're not going to do anything? What with the clue and all?"

"There's nothing much we can do," the blonde shook his head. He pointed towards the West Door with his fork. It was right in front of their picnic table.

A couple of boys were milling about the stone opening, chatting and finishing their breakfasts. "We've tightened the security around the Doors, though– ordered them Baggers to make sure no stupid shanks go darting out into the Maze and get themselves stung."

"Good that," Thomas felt the unease in his chest subsiding slightly, relieved some action was being taken. It was small, but better than nothing.

A few boys walked past their table, stopping to throw curious looks at Thomas. He was relieved—ever since Minho warned the other Gladers not to be too hard on him for having something to do with the Book, nobody had disturbed him (much). Of course, he did receive the occasional death glare every once in a while, but Thomas wasn't bothered, as 99% of them were from his arch nemesis Gally.

At that moment, Minho appeared, sliding onto the bench beside Thomas. The trio was soon joined by Chuck, Winston, and two fellow Med-jacks: Jeff and Clint. Thomas had only spoken to Jeff once—when he'd stupidly cut his own finger during his trial as a Slicer and had to get it checked out. As for Clint, the two had never exchanged words before.

"So, how'd everyone sleep tonight?" Minho broke the silence as everyone dug into their food. "Found any Grievers in your beds?"

Groans and snorts and head-shaking went round the table.

Newt sighed. "You sound like an bloody idiot when you attempt to make small-talk."

"Oh, come on. Worked, didn't it?" Minho's usual smirk slipped onto his face. "See? Everyone's smiling now. You shanks are too sissy to admit it, so I'll save you the trouble—Minho is the friggin' _sunshine_ in everyone's lives. I shower your existence with my constant joy and awesomeness." he gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. "Don't know what you guys would do without me."

"Throw a party, most probably." Chuck's scoffed, shaking his head.

"Everyday," Clint added.

Winston agreed. "With shuck balloons and all."

The sense of community that hung over their picnic table was oddly comfortable. Thomas smirked, "We'll even drop a note in the Box and ask for a dance floor."

"Yep. We'd be sad and miserable, alright," Newt's tone dripped with sarcasm, but he had a small smile playing on his lips.

Minho rolled his eyes heavenwards, pretending to be annoyed. "You no-good shanks are evil."

"Apparently _not_ evil enough to _not_ remind you that you're late for Running." the blonde tapped the face of his digital watch. "Hurry and get out there. Or else Alby's going to fry your puny little butt to a crisp."

"We_ could_ use an alternative when Frypan runs out of bacon," Chuck said sarcastically.

"Be my guest, Chuckie, but _I'm_ not gonna be the one slicin' up Minho's butt," the Slicer shuddered. Jeff began making gagging noises.

"You _sure_ you don't wanna?" Minho patted his behind fondly, smirking.

"Gross_._" Newt grimaced and stood up. Minho grinned. "Show's over, slintheads. Work-time. Go."

Everyone grudgingly got up and piled their empty plates together in a stack; cups on top. Chuck carried them away to the kitchen. In a few seconds, only Minho and Thomas were left. Newt went off as well after giving Thomas a quick reminder that he was playing kitchen Cook today.

"See you later." Minho shrugged.

"Wait," the tight knot in Thomas's gut returned. "You guys are still going out into the Maze, even if you know someone might get stung?"

"Just because the shuck Book said so, doesn't mean it'll come true. For all we know, it doesn't mean a thing." remarked Minho. "Maze won't run itself, dude."

"You're right." Thomas felt embarrassed for asking such ridiculous question.

"Course I am." replied the Asian. "Anyway, we'll be carrying extra weapons with us, no biggie."

"Which reminds me…"

Minho raised an eyebrow.

Thomas took a deep breath. It was now or never. "I want to become a Runner."

"Whoa, wait." Minho barked out a laugh after a pause. "You're serious?"

"Yes," Thomas said, a bit defensively. _Is it really such a bad idea?_

"Bit too soon for death wishes, don't cha think, Greenie?" Minho chortled again.

Thomas was starting to feel annoyed. "You don't think I can do it?"

"Didn't say that. You've got a lot of provin' to do before we elect you as a Runner, though. You've only been here for, what, three weeks?"

_Two weeks, actually._ "Who elects Runners, then?"

"Me, obviously." the Keeper replied smugly. "Well, and Alby and Newt."

"How did _you_ become a Runner?"

"I was one of the Original Gladers." Minho made quotation marks at the last two words. "Within a few days of waking up in this dump, we got this place up and runnin'. After a couple of months, we decided to send a few of us out into the Maze, to, y'know, investigate. Thus, Runners were born."

"Well, what do I have to do to _prove myself,_ then?" Thomas folded his arms.

Minho didn't reply immediately. "Don't know, actually—we've never had crazy shanks like you volunteering to throw yourself into the Maze to become Griever bait." he gave Thomas a knowing look. "All our Runners have been here since day one."

"I can run laps or something," Thomas suggested hopefully.

"Being good at running's not even half of it, shank." Minho shook his head, suddenly serious. "You need to be good at memorising and remembering and making decisions and all that klunk." he looked at Thomas right in the eye. "Why do you wanna become a Runner anyway? Zart told me you're a decent Gardener."

"I don't know," Thomas said uneasily. "I just _feel_ like I was born to be a Runner. It's like… like I belong out there, Running. Not in the harvesting fields. It's…weird."

Minho squinted at his friend, then shook his head and looked around. Everyone was already hard at work. "Listen Thomas, I need to go now. Talk about this later." With that, his friend sprinted away.

"Be careful," Thomas sighed and trudged towards the kitchen to report for duty.

* * *

><p>Hours and hours later, Thomas sat in the same spot he had yesterday at the Reading Session, cradling his sore fingers in his lap. They were covered in adhesive bandages, where he'd nicked with his peeler during the agonising process as known as helping the Keeper of the Cooks peel potatoes for tonight's dinner. (On the bright side, he'd now gotten to know Clint) Thomas had always known he'd never belong in the whole background-kitchen scene, anyway.<p>

"Consider yourself lucky," Chuck said, a little proudly. "During _my_ trial as a Cook, I started two fires and dropped a boiling kettle on Fry's foot."

Thomas winced, remembering the Cook's reaction when Thomas had left the potatoes on the stove for too long. "I'm surprised he didn't kill you."

"Nah, the sucker's a little ill-tempered, but he's a good guy."

"Attention, Gladers!" Alby clapped loudly from the front, three times. The noise stopped. "No fooling around today. Our number one priority now is to finish this Book, unravel as many clues as possible."

Minho and Newt were already seated in the chairs up front—everyone had decided to just let the two do the Reading. At the sight of Minho, a burst of relief washed over Thomas—he and the other Runners have made it back to the Glade safely.

_Maybe the Book _is_ crap after all,_ Thomas thought, slightly hopeful.

"Here we go. Page 54." Minho announced, breaking into his thoughts. "It's a short one."

_**Newt looked down in the Box one more time, then faced the crowd, gravely.**_

**"It's a girl," he said.**

"That's it?" Alby asked in surprise after Minho looked up from reading and didn't continue.

"Like I said, it's a short one." the Asian replied. "So, yeah, summary. Newt looked down into the Box and saw a girl._"_

Newt's eyes were wide. "_A girl?"_

"A _girl_ coming up in the Box?" Alby repeated slowly over the whispers and catcalls and hoots coming from the Gladers.

"I've never really thought of it but," Thomas turned to Chuck. "Why aren't there girls here? Why just guys?"

"Nobody knows." the kid replied, but his eyes were excited. "Maybe they got another Glade like ours, but full of girls." Chuck joked.

Thomas shook his head, turning his attention back towards the front. He was used to having his questions unanswered, anyway. Newt shushed the crowd.

"So I guess we got Clue Number Two. Some chick's gonna be sent into the Glade next." Minho proclaimed, who looked just as confused and worried as everyone else.

_This is bad_.

Alby scribbled things down in his notepad. His usually expressionless face was written with anxiousness. It triggered another wave of panic in Thomas's chest again. _Stop it, this can't be your fault._

"Right then…on with the next page," Newt said, absently running his fingers through his hair like he was deep in thought. Minho flipped the page and waited a few seconds to make sure everyone was paying attention again before reading.

He coughed. "Page–"

A loud, chilling scream interrupted right then, filling the air and piercing through all the other noises in the atmosphere like an dagger and drowning them out. Everyone froze, their eyes wide as their blood turned to ice. Only a few seconds later did everyone started reacting at once.

"What is that?" Thomas screamed as everyone got to their feet.

"It sounds like it's coming from the out in the Maze!" Chuck yelled back over the wailing.

"Sounds like one of Winston's poor pigs before they get slaughtered!" someone groaned.

"Sounds like someone got stung!"

"Shuck it, I hope not!"

"That can't be possible, everybody's here with us right now."

"Should we go check it out?" an older boy hollered, his hands clamped over his ears.

"Not if it's on the Maze, stupid!"

"_Shut up_!" Alby shrieked suddenly. Newt and Minho jumped. "Everyone just shut up for a second!" His face was so oddly pale and full of terror that everyone went quiet at once, staring at their leader in bewilderment.

"Everyone look around." Alby yelled over the wails. "Make sure all your friends are here _right now_. Make sure nobody's missing. Your bunkmates, the ones you work with, your best friends, your enemies, anybody you can think of, just _make sure they're all here right now._"

Newt grabbed his friend's arm, trying to calm him down. "Alby, I'm sure everyone's he—"

"Just do it!" the dark-skinned man snapped. "I'd do a roll-call right now, but my shuck list is back in the Homestead. Everyone just make sure nobody's missing!"

Confused and scared, everyone obeyed, standing on their tip-toes, peering over shoulders and calling out names of their friends, making sure they were all present in the enormous group of Gladers standing in the middle of the courtyard.

Having been in the Glade for only a couple of weeks, Thomas knew only a meager number of boys, but he mentally went through the virtual list in his head anyway. His heart pounding, he made sure they were all there in front of him:

_Chuck… Alby… Winston… Newt… Minho… Alby… Gally… Zart… Frypan… Clint… Jeff… that guy with the freckles and dark hair he met last week… that pasty kid with the red curls and the huge mole on his nose… that older kid with the droopy blue eyes he was told was named Billy…_

"Where's Ben?" someone yelled out to Thomas's left. The screaming in the distance continued, sounding more in despair every second.

Thomas turned to see Frypan trying to find his friend over everyone's heads. He looked ridiculous, his tangled beard flying everywhere while he jumped up and down on the spot.

Thomas pushed over towards the hairy Cook to help. "How does he look like?"

"Tall, lanky, brown hair," Frypan shouted back. "He's a Builder."

"Not much of a specific description," Thomas groaned but moved through the noisy crowd. There were plenty of tall and lanky brown-haired boys, but none of them seemed to respond when he called the boy's name.

After a few minutes of searching, Thomas somehow ended up near Newt, who was standing on one of the chairs. He was squinting and scanning the crowd in front of him and obviously going through his own mental list, which Thomas knew was long. The older boy had a look of pure concentration and panic in his eyes.

"Newt," Thomas called, hating to disturb his friend. "Have you seen Ben?"

"That's who I'm buggin' looking for!" Newt let out a frustrated sigh from above. _Oh no. _"Anyone seen Ben?" he yelled.

The few Gladers who heard him exchanged confused looks and began scanning the group for the missing Builder. Soon, the news that Ben was missing had reached the back of the crowd.

"I haven't seen him since lunch break!" Gally shouted from the middle. A bunch of "me neither"s answered. Voices of panic rose into the air.

"Think we should go look for him?" Minho elbowed his way towards the front, his forehead creased with worry lines. Alby appeared right behind him, looking like he might faint.

Right at that moment, a few people gasped. A deadly hush fell over the enormous circle of Gladers, slowly, like the silence was spreading. The atmosphere was eerily silent— the screams have stopped.

Thomas gazed around, confused. _Why'd everyone go quiet?_

"Is that Ben?" someone asked. Everyone was slowly turning around to face the East Door, staring at something.

"_Where_?"

"I think it is." someone called out, sounding relieved.

"What's he doing there?"

"What are you shucks talking about?" Alby demanded, some colour coming back into his skin as he once again took charge of the situation. He marched towards the front of the group who were gaping and pointing at something in the distance. Thomas followed.

"_There,_" a boy insisted once they were in front, pointing towards the direction general direction of the Deadheads. "At the edge of the forest. Someone's sitting there under that tree."

Everyone squinted.

"Has to be Ben." before anyone could say anything else, Minho stepped out of the line of Gladers and began strutting towards the Deadheads.

Hesitating slightly, the others followed the Runner.

* * *

><p>The trek took half a minute and when they finally reached the small forest area, Thomas's stomach dropped. It suddenly felt ten degrees cooler.<p>

A boy sat slumped against the trees, his eyelids pale and closed; his chocolate brown hair matted to his greenish face. He breathed heavily, skin shiny with sweat. Thomas immediately scanned the boy's long limbs for any signs of injuries, but he didn't look hurt.

Nobody said a word. Judging from the recognition in their eyes, it _was_ Ben. The Gladers hung back a few feet, staring at ill-looking boy and wondering what on earth had happened to him. Even Minho had stopped, his eyes wide, mouth ajar in shock.

"Med-jacks, be on the alert," Alby said and started forward cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal. "Ben?" The slumping boy didn't even flinch. "Hey, Ben."

Newt walked forward as well, shooting the leader dumbfounded looks. He carefully crouched down next to the boy. "Ben? What's wrong with ya, shank?"

"Ben," No response. Gently, Alby shook the boy's shoulder. "Ben!"

What happened next was so quick Thomas didn't have time to react.

Ben's eyes flipped open, revealing a pair of crazed, bloodshot eyes that darted around madly like he was searching for something. He leapt to his feet with a burst of energy he didn't look like he had a second ago, making Newt and Alby yelped and jump backwards in surprise.

"Ben?" a few people yelled in shock.

"_STOP IT!_" Ben screeched suddenly. His whole body trembled violently as he clamped his hands onto either sides of his skull. He pinched his eyes close, his face becoming paler by the second. He out a piercing shriek. "STOP IT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! _STOP! GET__—OUT!"_

"What is wrong with you?" Newt screamed, trying to grab onto the shaking boy. "Ben, what's _wrong_?"

Alby lunged forward, as if Newt's voice had pulled him out of his daze. He tackled the boy to the ground. At this, a few people ran forward to help pin Ben's convulsing limbs to the floor. Minho was one of them, plus the Med-jacks and a few others.

"HE DID THIS—HE DID IT—" Ben continued screaming in between gasps, his voice raw. "IT'S HIS FAULT—HE PUT US HERE—HE'S ONE OF THEM!"

"What are you talking about, boy?" Alby yelled. _"What's gotten into you?_"

Ben continued trashing against the arms holding him down. His face was now bright red, tears shining in his bloodshot eyes. His breaths came out in short gasps. It almost looked like he was screaming at someone in his mind. "GET OUT OF MY HEA—HE DID THIS TO US—STOP—STOP IT—HE'S ONE OF THEM—_GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"_

"GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT—" Ben screamed. He writhed his arm out from someone's grasp and began smashing his fist into his own skull, one blow for each word he shrieked.

"What are you doing?" Newt screamed, trying to yank the boy's hands away. "_You're going to bloody kill yourself!"_

Ben screeched even louder, flailing out his trashing fists. One slammed right into Newt's jaw. The blonde stumbled backwards, swearing loudly.

"_We need to knock him out!" _Jeff hollered above Ben's deranged chanting,

"I'll do it," Minho gritted his teeth, lifted his own fist and punched Ben squarely in the side on the head with a sickening _thuck._

And then, as if someone had hit the _off _button, Ben's wails cut off immediately, his body going limp and his breaths slowly became more even and slower. He suddenly looked peaceful, as if falling into a deep slumber.

The Gladers loosened their grip on the now-unconscious kid lying on the ground and slumped onto the floor in exhaustion. Panting, they exchanged stunned glances. The others who had stood back watching the scene were frozen, their eyes as round as saucers.

The silence after the commotion was deafening, the buzzing ringing sound cutting into Thomas's eardrums.

Minho spoke up after a while. "What the shucking_ hell_ just happened?"

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><p><strong>AN: reviews are very very appreciated x**


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